Sedona: skip the psychic crystal massage, eat some cactus fries and fudge.

I'm back.

What?

You didn't know I had gone?

Is okay.

I  won't take offense.  (If you leave me comment.)

I went to Sedona. With Jen and Hillary.

To get a psychic crystal massage, have a vortex experience, see what's new at Ye Olde UFO Store, and hit the Angel Wing Sale (that's what the banner said. But seems a cruel treatment of God's messengers. I think PETA should intervene.).

Fine. I didn't do any of that stuff. I was too busy in the fudge shop.

Is a different sort of vortex experience, am pretty sure.

To be clear: Am not talking about the Rocky Mountain Fudge. Is okay in an emergency, but is not a destination. Go to Sedona Fudge Company. Try the chocolate cream cheese fudge, the penuche, and the English toffee. Is better than rubbing power-infused rocks on oneself, but will also grant, is more caloric.

Also ate at the the Cowboy Club, at which I ordered an edible but not delicious pulled pork sandwich. I mostly ignored the sandwich, and focused on the basket of cactus fries. (Napolitas cactus, breaded and fried, with prickly pear dipping sauce.) Really, really good. I'm not lying to you.

The Desert Flour Bakery in Oak Creek isn't kidding around. Everything made on site. Cherry almond bear claws, rugalach in 4 flavors, chocolate cake with layers of chocolate and vanilla mousse. Get whatever you like. It's all good. (Don't ask me how I know this. I won't tell you.)

El Rincon mexican in the Tlaquepaque shopping center (gorgy mediterranean villa style filled with touristy crapola, pricey art and rugs, and more candy (store run by Helga, nice Euro-lady with the hairy pits to prove it). Think Seaport Village in San Diego, only way better. Still, you won't actually buy anything. You can leave your wallet at home. Unless you want Mexican food. Got myself a chicken chimi with green sauce, and was pleasantly surprised at its tastiness, because I had already been turned off by the cardboard chips and pace picante sauce salsa, the old dirty carpet and the smell that reminded me of Chuck E. Cheese. (Jen said I was nutsy). But sometimes the best Mexican is to be had in such establishments.  The sweet corn tamale was also a hit with our crowd.

In our food reconnaissance, we spied the Secret Garden Cafe, a girly breakfast/lunch place of the sort we like, and stopped there on the way out of town. We were not disappointed. A lovely patio table in the dappled 75 degree sun, a chicken salad sandwich, and a "Reubini": Pastrami, kraut, swiss, and Thousand Island on marbled rye, squished flat in the panini style. Man, do I love a good sandwich. I need to get my own panini maker. Maybe for my birthday next month. But I also want a ghd flat iron like Jen's. Is perfect, cause Jake likes to buy me technology gifts, and appliances are like technology. Sometimes Jake will sing to me:

Yes I love technology,

But not as much as you, you see 
But I still love technology 
Always and forever 

I know. Is so romantic. Don't be jealous. 

When we weren't busy chewing things in Sedona, we were getting cat calls from some man trying to drum up business for his little shop on Main Street. First he yelled "Hey, is there a beauty pageant in town?" To which I responded, "Yes, but we left our sashes back at the resort." And then later he threw out: "I seen some pretty girls in pictures, but none up close like this." This seemed pervy, so we didn't respond. But after that we wanted to saunter past, just to see what he would say next. We also got a "Where are you goddesses going?" from a hobo outside the convenience store. 

As if the food and sexual harassment weren't enough for a wonderful holiday, we went to Slide Rock, where Hillary pulled in next to some scary looking boys who were making peanut butter sandwiches with huge murder-weapon-style knives and listening to the Gin Blossoms (nice, but just Hey Jealousy, so is hard to know if they were serious fans). I was too busy to notice the potential danger cause I was busy in the back seat, trying to fix the bottom of my swimsuit, which I had somehow applied backwards. Is not comfortable, people. Here, we all slid 80 feet through Oak Creek on our bellies, whilst trying to keep our Bud Lites above water. Wait, no, that wasn't us. We stuck our toes in the frigid water while posing alluringly on the red boulders, siren-style (only without the singing), giggling evilly as Odysseus/Jason types (our fellow swimmers) crashed on the rocks before us. 

Then, we were off to Jerome, a mountain-perching mining town (1870's), now falling into a lovely, antiquated ruin of the type that makes for delightful bed and breakfasts (the picturesque style is generally considered very romantic), gift shops full of $40 t-shirts tie-dyed in red soil, and pricey art and crafts that I don't, you know, get. We would have stopped for a little bite on the patio at the Haunted Hamburger, but we were still in our damp swimsuits and it had begun to rain. Plus the Hell's Angels-looking bikers everywhere made us jumpy.

Anyhow, now I'm home in Mesa, and back at it.

You know.

Bribing kids to clean out their closets. 

Heading to Wal-Mart to get Ross new glasses (keeps losing them.)

Sharing the last piece of hoarded English Toffee with Jake for breakfast.

Happy Summer.